


Somebody Pull Me Up Short

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 06:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18177047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Bellamy's first date with Clarke is going pretty well, right up until she tells him she doesn't want kids. He's never really put much thought into it, but he always assumed, and it seems risky to tell her he's fine with that on the basis of a single good date.But he doesn't know how to just stop liking her.





	Somebody Pull Me Up Short

Twenty minutes into a fairly promising first date, Bellamy's 89% match says, "So, there's something I try to tell people on first dates? It used to be on my profile but I got a lot of weird messages so I took it out and waited until we actually met."

Given that Clarke's profile included that she was liberal and bisexual, plus a lot of semi-controversial political opinions, it's a fairly surprising statement. If she's willing to put up with couples looking for a third and guys sliding into her messages to lecture her about Bernie Sanders, he's not sure what would count as too much for her.

"Okay," he says, gesturing with his water glass. "Go ahead."

Clarke lets out a breath, the force of it ruffling her hair. She looks better in person than she was in her pictures, which isn't always the case. Her profile picture was good, herself in a scarf in front of a winter sunset, rosy-cheeked and smiling, and then the rest were sort of standard, herself with a dog, with a glass of wine, at a wedding. Nice, but nothing very remarkable. 

In person, she's magnetic, impossible to look away from. The best prospect he's had in a while.

"I don't want to have kids," she says. "At all. I'm sure, I'm not going to change my mind, it's a deal-breaker for me."

"You got shitty messages about that?" he asks, which maybe isn't the best place to start, but it's his immediate question. "Shittier than other stuff?" he clarifies.

She smiles a little. "Not shittier, I guess. But more annoying to deal with? It was all people with really strong opinions about how I'm going to change my mind, or guys telling me how _they'll_ knock me up, like that's a pick-up line and not a threat. It's not an argument that's fun or interesting to have, it's just exhausting. So I got rid of it."

"That makes sense."

"Anyway. I've had relationships end because of that, so I just put it out there up front now. No kids."

He takes a sip of water, buying himself a little time. Kids are something he takes for granted, an easy calculation he's never had to work through. As with most things, when you walk the beaten path, you don't have to think about it much, and kids are definitely the expectation. Thanks to his history with his sister, he's got more experience with it than most single, childless people his age, knows a lot about what parenthood actually looks like. If anything was going to make him not want to be a father, it was that unintentional test run, but he still thinks he'd like it.

"How do you know?" he asks. "I'm not doubting you do, I don't want to change your mind. Just curious."

"My mom's a doctor. Not an OB, but I grew up around hospitals and medical stuff. Pregnancy freaks me out, I don't want that. And then I was with a woman who wanted to do artificial insemination, and I realized even if I wasn't the mother, I didn't want a baby."

"And the relationship ended?"

She shakes her head. "No, this was my college girlfriend, we were just talking. I guess I figured she'd understand? Which was stupid, it's not like lesbians can't like babies. But she didn't really seem like the type."

"Do you like older kids? Still just curious, not trying to talk you around." She's still looking a little wary, so he goes on, "I kind of raised my sister. She's six years younger than I am and we never had enough money, so my mom pretty much used me for free childcare. Baby was the worst, but I was also six, so--"

Clarke is boggling. "You were taking care of a baby when you were _six_?"

"Not all the time. But I could change a diaper and give her a bottle, it wasn't that hard. And it mostly go easier once she got older. Or, uh--" He makes a face, Octavia's teenage years rushing back to him all at once. "I think I'd do better with it now."

"And you still want to have kids? After doing all that?"

"I guess. Honestly, you've put a lot more thought into it than I have." He taps the top of his menu, the rhythm of his finger keeping time with his swirling thoughts. "I like kids, and I like taking care of people. I've got a good job and pretty decent financial stability. I didn't go to college," he adds, glad it came up naturally, for once. That's his thing people tend to get weird about, especially people with profiles like Clarke's. "But I did trade school, and that's not a bad gig these days."

"You're a mechanic, right?"

He nods. "It's not particularly glamorous, but my boss pays well and when he retires, he's going to give me the business." The conversation is getting a little heavy for a first date, but Clarke started it. And she's watching him with interest. "I guess I just feel like--if I can help anyone, I should be doing it. I like helping. Taking care of people."

"So you want to adopt?"

"I'm figuring this out as I go," he says, with a wry smile. "But--I don't care much about biology. If I settle down with someone who can and wants to have biological kids, we can, but if not, I don't mind."

"But you do want kids."

Clarke's tone is wistful, a little melancholy, and he does get that. It's only been a few months, but he already finds internet-dating _weird_. The expectations are so out-of-whack to his usual relationships, where he meets someone and gets to know them and then they decide to go out at some point. The process can take one night at a bar or several months of friendship, but either way, it feels organic.

He'd thought that online dating would be easy because everyone started out on the same page, but it doesn't really feel like that. He and Clarke are, in theory, navigating the getting-to-know-you part of the relationship. This is when they should be figuring out if they're compatible, except they already know that. They chatted some online and figured out their dynamic, and they both know they're looking for something long-term, something that could last. He thought this might be it.

If he liked her more, knew her better, he might not think kids were a dealbreaker. But she's being honest and forthright, telling him flat-out that she can't do this, and the least he can do is listen to that. Asking her to wait around and get more attached while he decides if he wants kids enough to break up with her would be monumentally shitty. 

"I do, yeah. So--we should finish dinner."

She smiles. "Yeah. I'd say we could be friends, but I haven't really had that work out yet?"

That piques his interest. "What, you tell people you don't want kids and they stop being friends with you?"

Her laugh is soft, shy, lovely. It feels like he likes her more, now that he knows it's not happening. Human brains suck. "No, no. Not that. Every time I have a date on here that doesn't work out, we say we'll be friends, and it never actually happens."

"Okay, yeah, but how many times are you saying that as a soft no to some guy you don't actually like?"

"Not as many as you'd think. At first, yeah, but I got good at not meeting them in the first place. But I'm not really on dating apps to make friends."

"So it hasn't worked out because you don't want it to," he teases.

"Has it worked out for you?"

"I haven't really tried it." He offers her a smile. "I was having fun, I wouldn't mind hanging out more. Assuming dinner goes well."

She bites the corner of her mouth. "Do you like horror movies?"

"Depends on the horror movie. Why?"

"None of my friends do. I like going, but I don't like going alone because I need someone to talk to after so I don't freak myself out. So--I could use a scary movie buddy."

It shouldn't make his heart speed up, but he doesn't have any control of that. He likes her as an involuntary reaction. "Let's see how dinner goes," he says. "But yeah, I could work with that."

*

"Do you think I'm going to have kids?"

Raven Reyes doesn't work with Bellamy; if anything, she's kind of his secondary boss. She's some eccentric genius who rents part of the garage from Mr. Pike, which means she's helping to pay his salary. His first priority is always meeting any deadline he has coming up, but helping Raven is a regular secondary duty, and he likes it. Whatever she's doing is probably going to change the world; he's looking forward to being a footnote in her biographies.

As usual, she doesn't look up from what she's doing to answer him. "Not without some major medical breakthroughs but hey, keep the hope alive."

"Seriously."

"Seriously what? Did you have such a shitty date you think you're going to die alone?"

He sighs. "No, it was a really good date. I liked her. But she doesn't want kids."

"So you broke up with her?"

"More like she broke up with me. I guess it was an issue before, like--someone she dated wanted kids so much that they dumped her when she didn't. So now she checks before the relationship starts."

"And you said you wanted kids and couldn't date her?"

"What was I going to say? _I think I want kids but maybe not, so you should get invested while I figure my shit out_?"

"You liked her that much?"

He frowns. "Having trouble figuring out where you are in this conversation."

"Ditto." She slides out from under the engine. "Obviously, you're upset about this. And your opening question was _do you think I'm going to have kids_. So it's bugging you, and you think you shouldn't give up on her over this. So you must like her a lot. Am I close?"

"As much as I can from one date." But Raven is still watching him, which is pretty much the whole reason he's asking her. She doesn't accept bullshit. "It feels stupid to throw away something that could be good over this, but if it was like--if she had an issue with me being bi, I'd break up with her. She gets to have dealbreakers too."

"So don't date her."

"I know."

She sits down next to him on the work table, thoughtful. For a while, he'd thought maybe he'd marry her, that they could be a good match. But no matter how awesome the sex was, they're better as friends. "Look, I get it. Right now, you're thinking, _what if she was the one_?"

"There's not just one person for everyone," he grumbles. "That's not a real thing."

"Fine, yeah. But you know what I mean. You're thinking you blew your chance for something good."

"Yeah."

"Well, good news, you'd be doing that either way."

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"If you told her you didn't care about kids and wanted to try the dating thing, we'd probably still be having this conversation. You'd be wondering if you could really give up on kids instead. So you probably made the right call to do it this way. Are you going to see her again?"

"Yeah. I hope so," he corrects, because maybe she'll never actually get in touch. They could already be done. The whole friends thing might not actually work out.

"So think about kids on your own time. If it turns out it doesn't bother you, tell her that. But you made the right call."

"Yeah?"

"It's a lot better to realize kids aren't a dealbreaker and ask for another chance than realize they are and have to dump her," she says, which really is a good way to think about it. He knew how shitty dumping her would be, but he hadn't considered that he could try again if he changed his mind. That this re-evaluation could happen both ways.

"Yeah, that's true."

"You want one more piece of advice?"

"I'll take as much advice as you'll give me."

"If you're thinking you want kids, but you like her so much you'll compromise? Don't do that. That's going to end in tears."

"Yeah, don't worry. I've got that one."

"Hey, I asked if you wanted advice."

"It's a good reminder," he says.

She slides back under the car she's working with. "Sorry."

"For what?"

"Sounds like a kind of shitty situation. I hope it works out."

He shrugs, tries to feel as nonchalant as he's acting. "She was just an 89% match. It probably wouldn't have gone anywhere anyway."

*

**Clarke** : So here's where I ask if you were just saying you wanted to be scary movie buddies  
If you don't want to, tell me now

**Me** : I want to be scary movie buddies  
Are my services needed?

**Clarke** : The indie theater near me is playing The Exorcist this weekend  
Any interest?

**Me** : I've never actually seen it, so yeah  
I'm always here for expanding my horizons  
What time?

**Clarke** : Eight   
Eligius Theatre  
You've never seen The Exorcist?

**Me** : I said I wasn't an expert

**Clarke** : So what horror movies do you like?

Bellamy's pop-culture knowledge is spotty at best; growing up, he had basic cable that didn't work that well, and he tried not to watch things that weren't appropriate for Octavia. He mostly caught weird late-night reruns and hokey shit from the fifties, but now that he's older and can afford a Netflix subscription, he does see more of the classics.

So he tells Clarke he likes _Silence of the Lambs_ , _28 Days Later_ , and _Get Out_ , and they get into a long discussion about whether or not _Silence of the Lambs_ is really _horror_ , and if Bellamy has seen the _Hannibal_ TV show (which he hasn't), and how he needs to see the _Hannibal_ TV show, and how Clarke isn't very familiar with foreign horror films and wants to see more, which Bellamy would be interested in too.

Every time she texts, his stomach does one of those flips, the excited, giddy ones, the _she's talking to me_ flip, and that's an important thing to keep in mind. He does still like her, even if it's only because he's never been the type who likes giving up on things. It's not about _Clarke_ , it's about the unattainable.

He'll realize they're not actually good together, and he'll get over it, and then they'll be friends. That'll be good; he could use more friends.

They make plans to meet at the theater fifteen minutes before the show, he assumes because if they got dinner first, it would feel like too much of a date. He takes his dress cues from that, switching his contacts for glasses and his button-down for an old t-shirt, the kind of things he'd be wearing if he was going with Miller or Octavia. He doesn't go out of his way to be ten minutes early to the meeting like he would for a date, doesn't let himself fiddle with his hair in front of the mirror.

He gets there on time, ignores the flutter in his chest when he spots her on her phone in front of the theater, and just walks over and says, "Hi," like a normal friend.

Clarke looks up and smiles, bright and big. "Hey. Thanks for coming."

"Honestly, it was pretty pathetic that I hadn't seen _The Exorcist_ , so you're doing me a favor."

"I never saw _Titanic_ , if it makes you feel better."

"Wait, seriously?"

"I thought it was stupid! The ship sinks, people die, I already knew the story. And I wasn't really into tragic romance. Plus my friends were saying it was so amazing and I had to see it, so I got stubborn about it. Not seeing _Titanic_ was a defining part of my personality from like third grade through high school."

"My first date was to that movie."

She squints at him. "How old were you when it came out? You're not that much older than I am." 

"Middle school? Twelve or thirteen. I wasn't really that interested in the girl, but all my friends said she was totally in love with me and I should make a move, and she did keep telling me how much she wanted to see _Titanic_ , so I figured I might as well just ask her to go. I was pissed she expected me to pay for everything because I couldn't afford it, so we went halfsies and she told everyone I wasn't a gentleman after."

Clarke snorts. "Wow, that's a really bad first date."

"And I had to see _Titanic_."

"I've come back around to feeling like I should see it? Just so I can talk about it."

"Well, if you ever want to watch it, I don't really remember it. It would probably make a good drunk watch."

The words come out without his thinking about it, and Clarke gives him a look that suggests he maybe should have reconsidered. Watching a movie with a friend is normal, but the two of them aren't actually friends yet, and Clarke's probably even more aware of that than he is.

"Or not," he says, curling his mouth in a small smile, and Clarke laughs.

"Sorry, I just--this is weird, right? It's not just me."

"It's weird, yeah. But I want to power through the weirdness."

She works her jaw, looking into the middle distance as she considers. "Why?"

"Why do I want to be normal?"

"You don't really know me. If you just don't want to be the guy who drops me because I don't want kids, you can skip it, I don't care."

"That's not it." She doesn't reply, so he has to keep going. He sighs. "You're cool, okay? I was having fun hanging out with you, I wouldn't mind hanging out more. I don't have a ton of friends, it would be nice to have another."

"Yeah." She nods once. "Well, let's see how this movie goes, and we can make up our minds about _Titanic_."

"If you don't want to be friends with me, you can just tell me too," he points out. "I'm not trying to play friendship chicken or whatever. We don't have to hang out."

"No, it's not--friends could be good. It'll just take some getting used to."

"Cool. So, are you paying for your own popcorn?"

"One large is cheaper than two smalls. If you pay, I'll Venmo you for half."

He pretends to be thinking it over. "Deal."

*

**Me** : Do you like baby pictures?

**Clarke** : Are you offering to send me yours?  
I definitely want to see those  
Preferably embarrassing ones

**Me** : My goddaughter  
I don't have any of mine handy, but I can work on it

**Clarke** : You have a goddaughter?

**Me** : As of two days ago, yeah

The phone ringing is mainly a surprise because Clarke is only four years younger than he is, which puts her firmly in the _millennials who hate phone calls_ demographic. He was expecting a strong reaction, since he hadn't mentioned that he was getting a goddaughter in the near future, but he'd figured she would just send a bunch of question marks, not actually go to the trouble of calling him up.

He flops onto his back on the couch and accepts the call. "Hey."

"You cannot have just gotten a goddaughter two days ago."

"I think I'm the expert on this one."

"I meant you had to have seen it coming. You didn't tell me?"

It's been about two months since they saw _The Exorcist_ together, and the whole relationship feels both more and less weird. The two of them definitely get along, and they've hung out at least one night a week in person, and texted regularly too. They get along well, and Clarke is rapidly becoming one of his favorite people, which is all good. 

But he also can't stop thinking about kissing her, which is starting to be a problem. Especially because he thinks, maybe, she's thinking about kissing him, too. He'll catch her looking at him out of the corner of her eye, watching his lips when he's talking, leaning a little too close. They're friends, but neither of them has completely forgotten they met on a date. A _good_ date.

"It's Miller and Monty," he says. "And they swore me to secrecy."

"Okay, so what happened, exactly?"

"They've been doing temporary fosters for a while, just kids who need somewhere to be for a few months while their families sort shit out. Their social worker has told them she had a lead on permanent placements a couple times, but it kept falling through, so they were sure this one would too. But she didn't, so they're parents and still kind of stunned."

"How old is she?"

"Seven months."

"What happened to her family?"

"The mother gave her up. They've actually talked to her and are staying in contact, which makes everyone feel better. She's nineteen and thought she could handle it, but the dad left her with no forwarding address and he was the only reason she kept the kid. It's tough, but she's going back to college and they're thrilled, so I think it's going to be better for all of them."

"And you're her godfather?"

"I don't know how official it is, but yeah. Here for babysitting and telling everyone that she's the best kid in the world. But I figure you maybe aren't interested in being on the update list."

"I'm not not interested," she says. "I don't hate kids or anything. How many pictures do you already have of her?"

"No comment."

"If you send me the pictures, I'll find out."

"I'm not going to send you all of them, don't worry."

"What's her name?"

"Ellie."

"And she's the cutest kid in the world?"

"Absolutely."

He can hear her smile. "You know, I actually thought it would be easy to find a guy who didn't want kids? Not that finding a girl who didn't wouldn't be, but I bought into all that stupid sitcom stuff about how men don't actually like marriage and children and just do it to make women happy or whatever. I thought it would be a plus for a lot of guys."

"I think guys just think we aren't allowed to talk about it. Well, straight guys. Miller's happy to have a baby, but he wants to keep fostering still because he knows how many older kids struggle in the system. Monty always wanted a baby because he loves babies, but he knew it might take a while and never happen. It was complicated." He sighs. "I think a lot of people just don't think about it, honestly. But when you can't just have them the traditional way, you can't just do it on autopilot."

"Yeah."

They lapse into silence as Bellamy stares at the ceiling. It had been unreal, how happy Miller and Monty had been about the kid, and Bellamy had understood, but he hadn't, too. He doesn't know if he would be so upset, if he couldn't have a baby. If he never had that kind of family.

"I've been thinking about it a lot." His skin prickles like there are hot needles trying to burst out from under every inch of him. "The kid thing."

"Oh?"

"It's not like it's a defining part of my life, but it feels, uh--risky. To say I'd never have any and I'd always be happy with that, you know?"

"I do." There's a pause. "Are you home?"

"Yeah."

"Can I come over? This seems like an in-person conversation."

"Yeah, that sounds good."

Clarke doesn't live that far away from him, so he doesn't have that much time to fret. After just a couple months, it doesn't seem like they should be having this conversation, but it sucks more _not_ having it. He's getting tired of trying to pretend he's not falling for her.

"Fuck," he mutters, and goes to see if he has any beer.

The doorbell rings ten minutes later, and Bellamy goes downstairs to let her in. She's wearing a winter coat over pajamas, the most thrown-together outfit he's ever seen her in. 

"No wonder you got here so fast," he says.

"I figured you wouldn't mind."

"Definitely not." He smiles. "Hi, sorry I made it weird."

"It's been weird non-stop."

"I guess it kind of has. I have alcohol upstairs."

"At least there's that."

They get settled on the couch with beer, Clarke picking at the label while Bellamy tries to figure out his line. It feels like there should be some perfect thing to say to her, but he has no idea what it might be.

"Can we just admit this is way too similar to dating to be safe?" she finally asks.

"I kept worrying you were going to tell me you met someone else while I was trying to figure my shit out," he admits.

"I did make sure I was still going on dates, just so I wouldn't fixate." She gives him a tired smile. "And then I went home and texted you."

"Good." He runs his hand through his hair. "I don't want to say I don't care and realize I do three years later and its this--thing."

"What would you do?"

"In the hypothetical situation where we were dating for three years and I decided kids were a dealbreaker for me?"

"Yeah."

"Tell you, probably. It would suck and I assume we'd break up, but--" He rubs his face. "I can't believe I'd care about it so much that I'd break up with someone just over that."

"It happens." She sighs, looking down at her beer. "I spent a while in my twenties trying to get my tubes tied, but doctors hate doing that and it never worked out. So one night, I asked my ex how he'd feel about getting a vasectomy, and he was shocked and offended and just--" She huffs. "I'd mentioned before that I thought I didn't want kids? But I didn't want it to be, like--I was worried I'd lose him over it, and back then I thought that would be a bad thing. So we never sat down and had a conversation, and he threw that back in my face, like he'd never just nodded along when I dropped references. He said he didn't think I meant it, and once we got married, I'd change my mind. Or we'd just have enough sex that my birth control failed and that would be that."

"Jesus, that's a really shitty plan."

It makes her smile. "Right? I knew he was trying to get me to give up on condoms, but I still had an IUD."

"And abortion exists."

"He said I would never do that. Just, like, morally, he was sure I couldn't get an abortion, it would cross a line for me."

"How long were the two of you together?"

"About a year and a half." 

"That's a long time for him to not know you at all."

This smile is more tired, almost resigned. "He wasn't perfect, but he was also--easy, I guess. He just sort of agreed to stuff, so I thought we were on the same page, but then during our breakup conversation, I kept asking him about things I said I wanted and every one he was like, well, I figured you'd come around. He was just nodding and smiling and assuming I'd change."

"I don't get that. Why not just find someone who's good for you instead of doing some kind of fixer-upper shit?"

"He liked the idea of me. Just the details didn't work for him."

"How long has it been? Since you two broke up."

"Three years. He's not the last person I dated, but he definitely left an impression. That's probably why I like you so much."

It's not exactly news, at this point in the conversation, but hearing her say it is still awesome. He scoots a little closer, putting his arm on the sofa behind her, an offer she doesn't have to take. "Yeah? Tell me more about how much you like me."

She doesn't lean all the way into him, but she shifts, closes more of the distance between them. "The people who tell me I'll change my mind about kids suck, but the ones who just say they don't want kids without thinking about it are probably worse. Like it's not a big deal. You're one of the first people to really take it seriously."

"My mom didn't plan on having kids, either time. I don't think she was unhappy she had us, in the end, but--I think she would have been happier if she'd made the choice. But--I never made the choice either." She cocks her head, confused, and he shifts a little closer. "When my sister came along, I just took care of her. That was my responsibility. And I wasn't bad at it, but--that was who I was for a long time. My whole life was about my family, not what I wanted."

"When did that stop?"

"When my sister turned eighteen, stole all the money she could find from me, and ran away."

"Fuck," she breathes, and he laughs.

"It sounds worse than it was. That's why I don't tell people."

"So how bad was it?"

He leans back on the couch, considering. "It sucked when it happened, don't get me wrong. But we both needed it. She had to be her own person, and I had to be my own person too. I wish she'd handled it a little better, but it's not like I would have taken it very well if she told me she was leaving. After a few years, she got back in touch, paid the money back, and we had an actual conversation about how fucked up our childhoods were and how to move past it and have a relationship as adults."

"And you still want kids after all that?"

"I think I'd do a lot better the second time. Older and wiser. Or at least better prepared."

"I guess I can see why you'd want another try."

The softness in her voice half breaks his heart, and he gives up, finally wraps his arm around her and pulls her in. She settles in against his chest like she belongs. "I don't think it would bother me if I never got one. I'm a godfather now. Octavia might have kids. I've got other friends, they'll probably have kids too. They don't have to be mine." He pauses. "Honestly, not being mine might be an upside."

"You shouldn't have to give it up."

"I don't think it's really that much to give up." He gives her shoulders a squeeze. "Do you want pets?"

"I've never had a pet, but I like them in theory. Do you want pets?"

"I've been thinking about getting a dog, maybe. Mr. Pike would let it hang around the garage, it could be like a mascot. I like dogs."

"It just feels really stupid for us to be talking about settling already," Clarke admits, leaning against him with a sigh. "Like you said, shouldn't you just find someone who's actually good for you?"

"No. I just want you."

It's easy to say, easier than he thought. He's been trying so hard to not say it that the relief of just having it out there outweighs any of his concern.

Clarke stares for a second, but then she breaks, surging up to kiss him, her own patience running out all at once. Bellamy pulls her in, centering her more comfortably on his lap, kissing back all the more desperately because he knows this conversation isn't over. This could still blow up in his face, but if it does, he's at least going to kiss her for as long as he can first.

"If you change your mind about--" she murmurs, resting her face against his neck. "If you decide--"

"We could just stop liking each other," he says. "It doesn't have to be about kids. But if I change my mind, we can talk about it. We can try to figure it out. I don't think that has to be it."

She laughs, presses her lips against his shoulder. "Okay. Do you want to watch a movie?"

"No," he says, and kisses her again.

*

After six months, Bellamy gets a puppy, and Clarke basically lives with him for three months because she wants to help with said puppy. When she realizes she hasn't actually slept in her own bed for a full two weeks, she decides she might as well move in, and Bellamy's sister calls him to give him an _are you sure you really don't want kids_ lecture that ends with her admitting she thinks she and Lincoln are going to try for kids soon and she just wants to be sure he's still cool with his life. Which he is, obviously; he's getting cooler with it every day.

He gets a vasectomy for their first anniversary, which Clarke says is both the weirdest and best present a significant other has ever gotten her. 

"That's not all I got you," he tells her, on their actual anniversary. He had the procedure a few weeks early, so he'd be recovered enough to get laid on the date itself.

Well, that's what he told Clarke, anyway.

"Wow, that book I bought you is feeling really inadequate right now."

He snorts. "I love the book. And all the stuff I got you is really for both of us." He wets his lips, finds the ring box in his pocket, waiting for him, but he doesn't bring it out yet. "I was going to try to train the dog to bring this out, but she's an asshole who never listens to me."

"You love her."

"I do love her. And I love you, and I've never been happier, so--" He pulls the box out, watches Clarke's face melt into shock and joy, the only answer he really needs. "Will you--"

"You're sure?" she blurts out.

"I'm sure. I'm not giving anything up, Clarke. I've got everything I want."

"Me too," she says. She takes the box from him, opens it up to inspect the ring, the small diamond catching the light as she turns it over in her hands. "I know I didn't let you ask, but yes. For the record."

He laughs, tugs her in for a kiss. "Yeah, I got that."

The ring's too big, but as problems go, that's a pretty good one to have. Bellamy's got no complaints.

**Author's Note:**

> May or may not do a follow-up to this where Clarke decides she's interested in fostering! In this life there are nothing but possibilities.


End file.
